


Trapped in the Sense

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [271]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Tony Stark, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, F/M, Infidelity, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Omega Steve Rogers, Stolen Moments, Virgin Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-05-13 12:34:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19251301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: “I’m not going to fall in love. You should know that before anything happens.”“Fine,” Tony said through his teeth, his fingers tugging at the man’s jacket, his tie. “I’m not proposing marriage here, Rogers. I’m strongly suggesting we fuck.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: I’m not going to fall in love. You should know that before anything happens. Prompt from this [generator](https://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).

“I’m not going to fall in love. You should know that before anything happens.”

“Fine,” Tony said through his teeth, his fingers tugging at the man’s jacket, his tie. “I’m not proposing marriage here, Rogers. I’m strongly suggesting we fuck.”

Rogers let out a delicious sigh as Tony bared his skin, as it pebbled in the warm half-light. His grip on Tony’s waist tightened. “Oh god yes. I just want to be sure we’re on the same page before we--”

Tony kissed him to shut him up, to stop him from wandering down some emotional road before they got down to the business of the day. It wasn’t that Tony was opposed to conversations like that, in theory, but theory had never taken into consideration what would happen if he ended with Steve Rogers in his arms, a broad-shouldered omega who was technically engaged to the lady of the house but whose body Tony unabashedly craved. He was a scallywag to be secreted out here like this, in the gazebo down by the lake, a half a mile from Peggy’s party and at least that far from any good sense. It was dangerous to play with an unbonded omega--which, for the next month at least, Steve technically was--and though Tony had never bought the tales about how sex with one could lead to an instant bond and a drowning sort of love, clearly Steve put some stock in them. Not enough to let Tony go, it seemed, to free himself from the alpha’s greedy embrace and run back up the hill and under the fairy lights to find the woman whose ring he wore, an amethyst signet, the one currently caught in Tony’s hair.

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve breathed as Tony nuzzled his neck. “Tony, oh! What are you doing to me?”

Tony drew his mouth down Steve’s eagerly bared throat. “Nothing of consequence yet, beautiful. Tell me: what would you like?"

He had Steve trapped against one of the gazebo’s broad posts, trapped in the sense that Steve’s back was kissing wood and he was choosing not to push Tony away. That was the thing with omegas, the thing that always got Tony hot: on the whole, they tended to be bigger than anybody else, alphas, betas, what have you, but when they were in the arms of love or sex, they went soft and shivery, the power of their bodies helpless in the face of their pleasure; in such moments, be they larger or not, it was omegas who wished to be overwhelmed. And Tony that made their surrender to his wiles all the more delicious.

The amusing thing was that he hadn’t even used his wiles this particular evening on Mr. Rogers, being as he was the soon-to-be bondmate of the hostess; Tony may have had a well-earned reputation as a seducer, but he generally didn’t seek out what wasn’t his to take. Unmatched betas and omegas? Oh, they were fair game, even when they were inconveniently positioned: a colleague’s son or a business rival’s daughter, even lovely bustled thing he ran into out in the street. But once he caught a glimpse of a ring on the left hand, saw the soft bruise of an alpha’s preliminary bite, he would raise his hate and duck away, smiling, adjusting the diamond pin in his cravat.

No, tonight, of all extraordinary things, it was Rogers who’d sought him out. Rogers who’d offered him a cigar, who’d invited him out of other guests’ way to smoke it, who’d curled in after the smoke and brushed his lips over Tony’s, just like that.

“We don’t really know each other that well,” Steve had said. “And I know you’ve been a friend of Peggy's forever. But by god, Tony, ever since I met you, I’ve been dying to kiss you.”

Tony had cupped the man’s cheek and breathed in the smoke and sweet-smelling ash. “You have?”

Steve had shuddered and leaned into the touch, his eyes wide, holding nothing back. “Mmmm. But at that luncheon last month, when they sat us together...”

“Mr. Barton’s?”

“Yes, his.” Steve had a slid a hand beneath Tony’s coat and kneaded at his hip. “It was all I could do after dessert to not drag you into the back parlor and ask you for"--here he'd blushed beautifully--"for this.”

“Trust me, darling,” Tony had said, grinning, "I think you would have liked my answer. A whole hell of a lot.”

“I know,” Steve had gasped when their mouths parted again, “I know a place where we can go. Come with me. Please.”

So it was Rogers who’d grounded their cigars in a porcelain bowl and grabbed Tony’s hand and let him through the French doors and into the dark, away from the party and from his betrothed and into this secret place. Rogers, who was writhing beneath the squeeze of Tony’s teeth, moaning at each fervent lick of his nipples, whose hips were raised against Tony’s, feeding Tony hints of the soft heat underneath.

Tony chuckled. “Yes, my dear? Is there something you’d like?” He leaned back into the big hand clutching his ass and stroked his hands over Steve’s ribs and beneath the billowing white of his shirt, clawed gently at the bow of his back. “If there is, all you have to do is ask.”

Steve pulled at his hair and Tony went willing, turned his face up to capture that soft, needy mouth. The omega was trembling, Tony marvelled, shaking like the proverbial leaf, but his fingers were insistent, his tongue was; Steve didn’t want to escape. No, it wasn’t fear that was making him shiver, by the smell of it--it was pure, intoxicating want.

“Tony,” Steve said again, a plea, an answer. “You make me feel so good, so good that I can’t think, that I don’t know what I--!”

Tony swore, suddenly aware of his steel, of a deeply embedded desire to please this beautiful man, to part him his body and plunge in to him, niceties be damned. The longer he spent pressed against Rogers’ body, the more he ached to reach for his belt and tear at Steve’s fine, neatly pressed trousers--ones Peggy had picked out for him, no doubt--and take and take and take. Ah, god, Tony thought, the man sounded like a virgin, an innocent creature plucked from the forest, from the storybooks: an omega who’d never known an alpha’s kiss. Ridiculous.

“Let me open you up,” he heard himself say, the words hoarse in his throat, “so I can touch you where you’re softest, where you need me most. Would you like that?”

In answer, Steve rippled against him, a willow, and gave a sweet, velvet cry. “Yes,” he sighed. “Yes, _yes_.”

In the distance, Tony could hear music faintly, the notes slipping in through the sighs of the lake. It was after eleven by now and yet the party was still in full swing. It wasn’t an engagement party per se; that had happened months ago. No, this was a bash to celebrate spring, the coming of summer, full of bright dresses and flushed skin and more than a few roving eyes. Every eligible person in the county and a few from as far even as the city had rode out for the weekend: a soiree tonight, a shooting party tomorrow and then, on Sunday afternoon, a cold _au revoir_ lunch before leaving Peggy and Steve to get on with preparations; there’d be another, bigger party when they were finally bonded in the fall. This soiree, in comparison, was a pale cousin of what the nuptials would bring; of that Tony had little doubt.

But he wasn’t thinking of nuptials as he sank to his knees and reached for Steve’s belt, shot it, and pulled the omega’s trousers down past his knees.

“Oh, my sweet,” he said, reverent. “You do need me, don’t you?”

Steve petted Tony’s shoulders, his breath coming quickly. “Yes,” he said again. “Tony, please, yes.”

Even in the darkness, Tony could sense the rosy heat of Steve’s cunt, the open bloom of his lips, the dampness that soaked his soft curls. His scent was rich and thick, like roses overbloomed, and god help him, Tony knew in that instant: of this man, this omega, he’d never be able to get enough.

“Do you want my fingers or my tongue, darling?”

Steve groaned. Answer enough.

“All right,” Tony said. He pushed the tails of Steve’s shirttails up and bit gently at the top of his thigh, trailed his fingers down to discover Steve’s heat. “Both it is."


	2. Chapter 2

As a lover, Tony prided himself on his patience. He liked to linger in the secret spaces of his lovers’ bodies, to nuzzle their elbows or lap gently at the inside of their thigh before devoting himself to the pleasures of their cock or their tits or their cunt. He was, he firmly believed, a rarity among alphas in this; most alphas, his experience told him, were wholly focused on their need to rut. It was to this quality that he ascribed his popularity as a partner: his lovers got both a fat alpha cock and a man with the patience to know when to use it. In the act of love, Tony believed up and until the moment his mouth found Steve’s pussy, he was a master of his own control.

But when he trailed his tongue down the folds of that fevered flesh, when he buried his nose against the peak of Steve’s clit and felt fresh slick slide down his chin, heard Steve utter a soft, profane sound, there was something inside him he had carefully trained that reached up for the reins and cut itself free. He  _ wanted _ in that moment as he’d never wanted before: to rut and to fuck and do all the things that he shouldn’t--to love and to breed and to claim.

Steve’s fingers were in his hair, that damned ring catching, and when Tony had enough sense to think beyond the roar in his head, the demands of his own body, he looked up and saw that the beautiful creature’s eyes were turned upon him, too, the last traces of shyness, of the pretense of demure, now torn away.

“More,” Steve breathed. He hitched his cunt against Tony’s face, his curls snagging in Tony’s beard. He did it again. And again. “Lick me more.”

What could he do but obey? Because it  was like being drugged, the perfume of Steve’s wet; Tony had never scented anything like it. Nor had he ever, in all his many years of seduction, felt the need to free himself from his britches just from this, from having his face buried in the peach sweet of an omega’s cunt, from the noise Steve making, primal and greedy, from the speed and pitch of Steve’s hips. But here he did so, unthinking; freed himself and stroked himself, moaning, the hot cloud of his own desire rising around them like an overstuffed thunderhead.

Steve let out a wild, pretty cry and bucked again and as much as Tony ached to ease his own torment, he wanted to be inside of Steve more.

He was so greedy he didn’t pet first, as he liked to, didn’t tease the tight promise of Steve’s opening and make his lover ask to be filled, beg. Instead, amongst the warm wind and soft shadows of the gazebo, he reached up and plunged two fingers in and sucked hard at Steve’s clit and Steve closed around him, wailing, the crush of hot velvet trapping his hand.

“Please,” Tony heard himself saying, a prayer slurred against the cloister of Steve’s magnificent body. “Take all you want from me, my dear. All that I have, darling--it’s yours.”

“Then take me.” The words were soft but not at all uncertain. “Right here, alpha. Fuck me.”

There were a thousand reasons that the idea was madness. They were exposed, for one thing; sheltered from the party now, but what if another pair of lovers found their way here to enjoy the moonlight? They would be found. There was, too, the small matter of Steve’s engagement, and the larger one in re: Tony’s lack of a French letter; it hadn’t occurred to him when he’d dressed that evening to keep one close at hand. But that wasn’t his fault, he thought dizzily, was it? He hadn’t come down that weekend looking for anything more than the occasional dalliance. He hadn’t anticipated desire overcoming all manner of his good fucking sense.

But here he was pulling his fingers free and staggering to his feet and tugging until Steve’s back was to him, until he was tearing Steve’s shirt free and his own open and plunging into the peach of Steve’s heat with a growl he could barely understand as his own.

“Oh,” Steve whispered, very softly. “Oh. Oh. Yes.”

And when they were joined, in that first perfect gasp, Tony’s body sang with something unfamiliar, something delirious and ancient and so, so very good, and Steve echoed that song back a hundred fold, a trail of sweat slipping down the planes of his back.  God, if Steve had been tight around his fingers, it was almost unbearable around Tony’s member; the omega’s cunt was a rippling sea that pulled him under and did not let him look back.

“Alpha,” Steve said. He swept his eyes over his shoulder, shining. His hips twitched in Tony’s grasp. “Tony, I need you. I need you. I’m yours.”


	3. Chapter 3

He hadn’t meant for tonight to end up like this. Truly, he hadn’t.

It’s not as though Steve didn’t know it was wrong, flirting with another alpha while he wore Peggy’s ring; bad enough to want to, to daydream about it--far, far worse to do it in a house crowded with people all there to toast his engagement, with his alpha herself moving gayly among them, trusting him, never doubting his fidelity for a moment. And why would she? That was the reason she’d chosen Steve, wasn’t it? One of them.

“Isn’t it wonderful,” he’d overheard her say to one of her friends after luncheon, when she’d thought he was out in the garden, “how untouched by the world he is, Tasha? How a creature so beautiful has managed to move through life for 25 years and remain so pure?”

“He is...intact, then?” Peggy’s friend had said delicately.

“Oh, of course, darling. But it isn’t only that.” Here he’d heard his betrothed sigh, the gentle clatter of a spoon in a saucer. “It’s his very spirit that I speak of, the way he looks at the world--there’s none of the cynicism you see in those his age these days. He approaches every circumstance as if it an impossibility that it will bruise him; not that it can’t--he’s not that naive--but that it won’t.”

“Ah.” A throaty chuckle. “I see. It is this that you love about him, eh? Not only his beauty.”

Peggy’s response had been sharp. “Love? Come now, Tasha. Now who’s being naive? We both know that marriage is not dictated by affection; not the ones that last, anyway. Steve will bring me lovely children and care for them wonderfully in the years that follow, and my father in his grave shall rest easy knowing that I shall not be the end of the line.”

He had ducked back outside then, his errand within the house long forgotten, and fled with swift feet past the gardens and down to the grove of trees that sat beside the lake. For an hour, he had hidden in the old gazebo and thought of Peggy’s words, over and over. He had wept there, beneath the fall leave. Felt what had been the pleasant pinch of Peggy’s ring on his finger and for the first time, found himself wincing.

She was wrong of course, his alpha. He had been naive.

He had taken her professions of affection at face value; so too her generosity, the rooms she’d given him inside her great house; the plans for a shared future she’d seemed so eager to make.

That she had done no more than kiss him even after their betrothal, he had taken as a kind of respect; an old-fashioned kind, perhaps, but one borne of propriety, of valuation. She loved him enough, he told himself on those nights when he ached to be filled, to wait to touch him more intimately than one might a dear friend. That he burned for more--for her hands on his body, her mouth on his throat, the teasing heat of her cock against the meat of his thigh--was his failing, his weakness; she was his alpha and in matters of the flesh, he had been taught since childhood, there was no question but that alphas knew best.

But as he’d sat by the lake, listening to the water whisper over stones, for the first time in his life, he’d questioned that. Alphas knew what was best for alphas, that was true, but surely not for him.

The notion of having a family, raising children--these things indeed appealed to him. But in his mind, in his heart, such a life was predicated on love, on a deep desire beyond all reason to be joined, knotted in body and soul; marriage for him had always been the ultimate expression of that goal.

“Finally,” his best friend had said some days later when he had repeated this sad tale. “I’ve been telling you this for years, Stevie, years: marriage is a goddamnable trap. Worse than that--it’s a lie. It’s just a way to keep we omegas inline and--what was that word your beloved’s friend used?--oh, ugh. _Intact_.”

“Yes, well,” Steve had grumbled, pushing his empty pint glass away and signalling for another. “I believe you now. Are you happy?”

James Barnes had squinted at him across the table. “Not happy. Just relieved on your account. Better you realize this now, before all the _I do’s_ , so you can break the engagement.”

“Break the--! Buck, I can’t do that!”

“But you just said--”

“I know what I just said, I know, but it’s not as simple as that.”

“Not as simple as you being with someone who truly cares about you?” Barnes’s voice was incredulous. “Dear god, Stevie. What could be simpler than that?”

Steve had taken a long, grateful drink. Squeezed his eyes shut and said: “I have obligations. You know that. The question of this marriage affects more than just me.”

“Your mum will understand! She of all people, you have to know that she’ll--”

“No.” The word had been a steel trap; his heart, too. His mother’s face--Lord, he could only imagine. She would understand, she would say the right things, and she’d be the one put on in the street. He’d be damned if he’d be the one who put her there. “That’s not on the table, Buck. I’ve taken Miss Carter’s ring, we’ve set a date. It’s done now. It’s done.”

He’d felt his friend’s hand in his hair, soothing, even as he smelled Barnes’s frustration, his fight to keep it under control. “You’re a fool,” Buck had said softly. “If anybody deserves to be loved, dear friend, it’s you.”

“May I offer a suggestion?” Barnes had said later, much, as they staggered back to his rooms from the tavern.

Steve had bowed, a drunken approximation of grave. “You may, good sir.”

“If you’re determined to play the good little omega for the rest of your fucking life, have a little fun before you become somebody’s wife, eh?”

“Whazat mean?”

“It means,” Buck had said, sweeping an arm around Steve’s waist and hauling him in the direction of the door, “if some other good-looking alpha comes sniffing around before the big day, think a little before you turn them away. And you know what? Even better.” Here he laughed, a great saucy bleat in Steve’s ear. “Get your cunny stuffed by someone who knows how before Miss Carter claims it.”

“You’re disgusting,” Steve had said, even as that soft part of him clenched.

Barnes had turned the key and shoved Steve inside, fallen back to close tight the door. “No,” he said, “I’m your friend, older, wiser, and a lot more handsome. And trust me on this, Stevie, my darling: you very much need to get fucked.”

And it wasn’t as though he’d taken Buck’s advice to heart, precisely, or followed it to the letter, but he had, as it were, tuned back into that part of himself, of his body, the part that paid attention to scents and pretty faces, to flashing eyes and smiles that lingered too long and the effects such glances had on him and it soon emerged that there was one alpha whose presence affected him like no other:

“Ah,” Peggy had said in December, snow gathered around the grounds of their neighbor’s estate, “Steve, my dear, you remember Mr. Tony Stark, don’t you? I introduced you at Miss Romanoff’s supper party a few months ago.”

Steve had offered his gloved hand; Stark had to stick his cigar in his mouth to take it. “Indeed I do," Steve said. "Pleasure to see you again, Mr. Stark.”

“Mr. Rogers.” The ice in his glass tinkled as they shook. “I understand we shall be seeing a lot of you over the next--what is it?” Here he looked at Peggy. “Year or so?”

“Thereabouts. We’re to be married next October.”

“October,” Tony said. “Very good. And you’ll be at Arden House from here on out, Mr. Rogers?” He had smiled, then, just a quick turn of his lips, and let Steve’s hand go. It was odd, how Steve immediately missed it.

His tongue fumbled, as if he’d been the one drinking. “I shall--yes. With Miss Carter, indeed. That’s where I shall be.”

Tony had bowed a little, a theatrical thing, and plucked the cigar from his teeth. “We shall do our best to show you our county’s hospitality, sir. Ah, but then, I believe you’ve found it already, have you not?”

He’d winked at Peggy and then rippled away, calling to a gaggle of omegas clustered by the Christmas tree.

Peggy had chuckled in Steve’s ear. “Don’t pay him any mind, my dear. He was on his best behavior when you met him at the Romanoffs; I’m afraid he’s quite in his element here.” She’d slid Steve’s arm through hers and tugged at him gently. “Come. The Bartons are just over there. I’ve told you about them, haven’t I?”

He’d met a dozen people that night, perhaps more, and yet when the evening drew to a close and he retreated to his big, chilly bed, the only one whose face he’d remembered, whose smell on his glove still lingered, was Tony Stark’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter or two here, I hope.
> 
> And cheers to the reader whose kind comment recently brought me back to this tale!


	4. Chapter 4

And now Tony was inside him, big and hot and needy, and Steve felt--as the moonlight kissed his skin, the summer trees humming above him--as if he might take might fly apart.

Ever since he had been old enough to understand what the drives of his body would one day be, how those drives might dictate the path his life would take, he had wondered--what omega hadn’t?--how the act of mating would feel. Would it hurt to have an alpha seize him and stroke him and push inside? What would it be like when the alpha reached the heights of their pleasure and knotted him, that soft place between his legs stretched ever further as the alpha gave him their release?

There were some omegas, he knew, who feared it; Steve had never been one. It had seemed a curiosity for much of his youth, a kind of intricate puzzle, the particulars of whose pieces he was not old enough to understand. But that was the way of things--well-behaved omegas did not ask questions about sex. Indeed, it was untoward to be seen as having too much interest in the subject. All he need know, the world around him told him, was that his body was a gift he should hold in reserve for the person he married; they and only they could unwrap it and, if he were lucky, teach him to know its delights.

There were horror stories, too, of omegas who allowed alphas to take liberties, who took the honey poured in their ears at face value and, in a moment of moral and physical weakness, lay back and spread their legs, only to find themselves in the aftermath bonded to an alpha they barely knew, marked and sometimes, terrifyingly, with the first hints of life already taking root inside them. Such poor unfortunates allowed themselves to be ruined--not even by pleasure itself, but by the prospect, by listening to the call of their physiology rather than the voice of reason the world had worked so long to instill. Sex, then, was an alpha’s purview, something only those with a cock and a body that could breed could understand, and omegas as a course should be wary and shield themselves from the temptations offered by a well-aimed smile, a smooth word, or a touch.

But sometimes, to Steve, such stories sounded less like those of ruin than of romance. To be so overwhelmed with passion, he mused, by the siren call of ancient drives--drives that moved beyond reason, beyond good manners or logic, and brought two people together for reasons even they themselves did not understand. In the right light, or in the small hours of night when he dared touch himself, there was a great deal about this idea he liked.

“It’s because you think too much,” Bucky had told him the first time he dared speak of it. “Your mind is always going, Stevie, like a paddlewheel, always turning. You like the idea of having an excuse to override it.” He’d raised his eyebrows, smirking. “Though in my experience, drink, darkness, and a modicum of privacy often afford the same thing.”

Steve had blushed to the crown of his head. "Bucky! Good lord. I’ll do no such thing.”

Bucky leaned away from the table, his silk robe falling open; they were in his sitting room eating breakfast. His bare chest had shone in the sun. “I know you won't. This whole stupid notion of virtue’s too important to you, the same now as it was when we were children. I let it pass then because you were too young for me to dissuade you. Or so I thought. Now, I worry that my reluctance to speak has allowed such a ridiculous notion to calcify.”

“One day,” Steve said, “an alpha of the right sort will find me, will choose me, and--”

“And what? They’ll breed you a few times a year until you give them the right amount of children? Oh, yes, so they will. And then what?”

“Then I shall be a fine parent.”

“Of course you will.” Bucky plucked his cigarette case from among the empty plates. “You shall be a very proper parent and a very excellent wife. And your alpha--the sort that will say all the proper things at the proper time, the one who’ll put a proper ring on your finger--will treat your cunt as their property bound by lock and key and when the urge strikes them to fuck out of rut, it’s not you to whom they’ll run, darling. It will be to someone like me.” He struck a match. “Someone unbonded and and unbred whose body has never known their knot. That’s what they’ll want, people like that. Trust me. I have one inside me almost every night.”

Steve had turned his face away and taken refuge in the sounds of the street below, the air from the open window. “I hate it when you talk like that. I fear, my dear friend, that you devalue yourself.”

“I do no such thing.” His friend’s fingers brushed his hand and when he looked back, Bucky was smiling. “I enjoy my life a great deal, you know that. And believe it or not, Stevie, that’s all that I want for you.”

He thought he’d found happiness with Peggy. Truly, he had. And yet now, in Tony's arms, he knew that he had not.

Tony, who he’d never been alone with before tonight. Tony, whose kisses had stirred sensations that the chaste press of Peggy’s lips never had. Tony, who had put his mouth on Steve’s clit and buried his face in Steve’s pussy and groaned as if his was the sweetest taste in the world and now, Tony was fucking him, shoving his cock in deep as the slap of their bodies, the sound of their pleasure, grew ever and ever so loud. He was naked in the night air, they both were, the darkness and distance from the house their only shield, and there was a roar at the base of Steve’s back, an exquisite feeling, a tiger that ached to be free.

It did not help matters that Tony’s chest was pressed against his back, that his fingers had slid somehow to the swollen petal of Steve’s clit; each hitch of Tony’s hips, each thrust of his member, made Steve feel as if he might go beautifully mad.

“Sweetheart,” Tony panted. “Dear god. You feel as if you were made for me.” Steve could smell the scent of his own slick on Tony’s breath, feel the heat of Tony’s mouth against his neck. “Can that be so?”

Steve cried out and gripped the gazebo’s post tighter; was it his fevered imagination, or could he hear the wood strain? Was the very floor beneath them bending with the force of their lovemaking, the sharp, delicious shove of Tony’s thrusts?

Did sex always feel like this? he wondered. As if his body were made of lightning, every inch of his skin crackling--as if were a gust of wind to catch him like this, his body bent in worship of his alpha, he might fly apart? 

Tony kissed his throat, fed him a soft graze of teeth. “You’re so wet,” he whispered, the words tinged with awe. “And so soft inside, darling. So fucking tight. Does it feel good, having my cock inside you? Tell me.”

Then the wild was in his mouth, crying: “Yes, _yes_ , God--!”

“Fuck.” The curse was soft and desperate; inside him, somehow, he felt Tony stiffen and swell. “You keep making sounds like that and someone will find us. Someone will see what I’m doing to you and how much you want it, how greedy you are for my touch. You don’t want that, do you?”

There should have been fear in his heart at that prospect, in the small part of him that remained sane. Here he was, Peggy’s prized possession, her virgin betrothed, with another alpha’s cock inside him, and all he could think of was not discovery or ruin but the bloom of Tony’s knot that caught the edge of his cunt each and every time Tony moved in and out. Tony’s body thought it should fill him, pump warm heat into his channel and knot his cunt so not a drop of it got out. Tony’s body--gorgeous and slim and powerful--was ready to breed him, was desperate to, and suddenly, there was nothing Steve wanted more.

He leaned his head back against Tony’s shoulder. “I want you,” he panted.

Tony’s hips hitched. “Oh, you have me, my dear.” His lips were rough against Steve’s ear. “Each and every part of me is yours. Can’t you feel how well I belong to you?”

A shudder. “Then let me have it all, Tony. Come inside me.”

A growl. “Yes.”

“Knot me.”

“Fuck. _Fuck_.”

Steve turned his head and sighed against Tony’s cheek. “Tony," he whispered. "Alpha. Breed me.”


	5. Chapter 5

There was a moment before and a moment after; a moment when reason seemed possible and the next when damn and blast it, Tony hoped he never saw reason again. 

“Breed me,” Steve said again, and again, his hand breaking free of the post and slamming back to grab at Tony’s thigh. “Breed me, breed me, _please_.”

There was a sound in the air, deep and aching and wild, and he realized dimly that it was coming from him; that for every slam of his hips, every clutch of Steve’s cunt, another wave of it rose from his lips, and when he shoved in one last time and his knot bloomed and Steve screamed--a noise like a shower of flowers--he sank his teeth into Steve’s throat and poured himself into his omega, filled him the way he’d pleaded for, the way they both wanted, and at the first flick of Steve’s blood in his mouth, he pulsed harder, jammed inside Steve’s beautiful body, heard Steve’s rough and ready gasp, and it was instinct that send his hand tumbling, pitching over the swell of Steve’s hip and down to the wet rose of his clit and Steve’s big body froze and God help them: the omega _came_.

It was this that separated a simple knot from a breed, a night of careless pleasure from an interlocking of bodies that could change the course of one’s life: not an alpha’s knot alone, nor their bite, but an omega finding climax with an alpha knotted deep inside them. This was the stuff of silly romance novels, of whispered stories behind gloved hands of a single unchaperoned night that had led to a irrevocable bond which even a family’s anger or high public standing or money--God, how much money had been wasted in such futile efforts?--could not hope to break.

It was, too, why the delight that Tony took in bringing the omegas he took to bed to climax--albeit with his mouth or his fingers; he was no fool with his knot--seemed to many of his partners such an extraordinary thing. If one wasn’t careful, if one got so lost in the joy of penetrating their luscious cunts then one might, as Tony had, become lost in biological instincts that could easily override good fucking sense and do all they could, urgently, to bring their partner to pleasure as they themselves were locked inside and then, oh then, what could one do when the omega’s pussy tightened in one last beautiful wave and in their ecstasy released the chemical splendor that had since the beginning of forever bound an alpha and omega together in ways that even those long bonded found difficult to explain.

An omega’s orgasm, then, was a dangerous thing, or so society would have it, and as much as Tony had spent a lifetime flirting with the forbidden, never before had he allowed himself to be so foolish. Never before had he felt so goddamn good, for Steve was whimpering now, choking out hot, delicate sounds that made Tony’s balls jerk and swell.

“More?” he slurred against Steve’s shoulder. “You want more of me, Steve?”

Steve’s head bobbed; he was beyond speech now, stunned. Tony could feel it.

He licked at the pinpricks of his bite, hummed when he tasted red there. Whispered: “Then, my darling, you shall have it.”

Somehow, he peeled Steve from the post and together, they sunk to their knees. Tony guided and Steve followed and in a moment, they were on their sides on the wooden floor, still locked together, but closer now; now, Tony could tangle their legs and stroke at Steve’s chest, feel his heartbeat; the steady drip of his tight little nipples. He could breathe against the back of Steve’s neck and cradle that big, blond head in the crook of his arm and luxuriate in the strange, intoxicating sensation that was breeding, that was the first murmurs of a bond--that was Steve’s hand finding his and squeezing and squeezing as the omega came again, purring, a tremble of utter contentment. The calm, as it were, after the storm.

“I could stay inside you like this for hours,” Tony grunted. “Fill you up again and again until even my knot wouldn’t be able to keep it all inside you.”

Steve’s head fell back against his shoulder. His voice was soft and debauched. “But I want all of it, alpha. Every drop of you.”

Tony’s hips wrenched and he spurted again, his breath leaving him. “You need it, don’t you?”

Steve turned his face, rubbed his mouth against Tony’s jaw. “God, yes.”

“Every day.” Fuck, just the thought made him crazy. “You’ll get it every day if you want it, sweetheart. Won’t even have to ask. You can just sit right on my cock and take.”

Steve laughed. The smell of his body shifted to something like jasmine. “Really?” he said. “I could march in of an evening and mount you at the supper table, just like that?”

_"Yes_ ,” Tony said, fervent, his cock delighted at the thought, by the mental image of Steve in a dressing gown striding into Tony’s dining room and shoving back Tony’s chair and freeing his cock and lowering himself across Tony’s thighs, his pussy already glistening, his breath already coming in eager, greedy gasps. “Oh, fuck, yes.”

He felt Steve’s smirk, felt the walls of his pussy clench. “Oh,” he murmured. “You do like that idea, don’t you?”

“So do you.” Tony freed his fingers and slid them down Steve’s stomach, let them crest over the place where they were still joined. “Very much.”

And so it was that Tony brought his omega to climax again, this time with soft, carnal words and slow, ardent strokes until Steve was writhing, until the air was flush with his arousal, until he was like fire to touch. This time, Steve found pleasure not in silence, but in a shout, shoving himself back against Tony’s cock, his slowly sinking knot, as if he could never, ever get enough. And it was this that made Tony bury his face against Steve’s neck and pour out all that was left, the last of the heat his body could muster; it was, it seemed, his turn to whimper, his turn to close his eyes and shudder as pleasure at one last turn at his back.

“You,” he whispered when speech was his again, when their bodies were at last untied and he was curled in Steve’s arms, the omega nuzzling at his cheek. “You’re mine, Steve Rogers. And I shall be yours, always.”

“Oh," said a voice emerging from the darkness, brittle and fierce, "we’ll see about that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a [dramatic chipmunk](https://i.gifer.com/WClO.gif) ending to this chapter, but there you are.


End file.
